


Snap, Crackle, Pop

by lilbarton3



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Feels, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, I Tried, Injury, M/M, Multi, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-22 18:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9619790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbarton3/pseuds/lilbarton3
Summary: Three times an injury strikes the team, and three times they were able to grow closer.





	1. Pop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some distractions are better than others.

Contrary to what all three of them had subconsciously assumed, the first casualty of their team was not Gaby.

 _It should’ve been,_ she bitterly thought as she hugged her knees to her chest where she sat in the bright, sterile hospital hallway. She ignored the brush of her wisps of hair against her face and the cool feel of the floor tiles against her bare feet; she found blankly staring at the opposite wall to be more interesting. The gorgeous sundress Illya had dressed her in that morning was in tatters, but the men’s coat draped over her shoulders kept her somewhat decent. She moved both hands from her legs to pull the suit jacket tighter around her, choking back a sob as the action caused the owner’s favorite cologne to reach her nose.

_How could this have gone so wrong?_

Gaby was so distracted that she didn’t notice the approach of one of her partners. It took her name being softly called several times before the woman raised her head blearily. “Is he-” Her voice trailed off brokenly.

“Alive.”

She nodded robotically. If only she was a robot, maybe this wouldn’t hurt so fucking bad. Gaby heard an exhausted sigh slip from her partner as he knelt beside her and reached out to brush the tips of his fingers against her cheek. In any other instance, she would’ve leaned into his touch, but after what she had been responsible that day… She jerked away from the gesture.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, missing the wounded look in the blue eyes trained on her. “I’ve done enough damage for one day.”

The rustle of fabric signaled that the man had now taken a seat next to her, and deep down she was thankful that she hadn’t scared him away when he rested a hand on her left knee. “Not your fault, chop shop girl. Napoleon knew what he was doing.”

She knew he was worried too when Illya called him by his real name.

But nothing should have happened. It was too serious to be brushed off as an accident, and so Gaby was left to blame herself. Napoleon was her partner, too. She was the one next to him; she should have backed him up properly.

But fate would not have it that way. Yes, she had collected the necessary evidence for Waverly’s men to legally swoop in on their target, but Napoleon was the one who had sensed the danger first. Napoleon had tucked her into the safety of his arms he shielded her from harm. Napoleon had taken a bullet to the back. Napoleon had gritted his teeth and stayed silent as she dragged him to cover. Napoleon had protected her and she hadn’t done the same for him.

“I killed him, Illya,” she whispered.

His hand gripped her knee tighter. “Нет.” The Russian accent was leaking into his accent more, leading her to understand that he was just as upset as she was. “Bad man almost killed him. You save both of us many times. He save you, too.”

The image of crimson blood blossoming across the American’s back overpowered what Illya said. She shook her head in a desperate attempt to forget. “I didn’t do _anything."_

“You bandaged his wound. You drive him here. You keep him awake and give him a chance.” He reached across with his other hand to tuck one of many loose strands of hair behind her ear before he stood and beckoned for her to follow. “Come. Do you not want to see him?”

Gaby let him guide her to the room as she stared blankly at his back. “He might not want to see me,” she tried to argue as he led her through the hospital room door.

“Says who?”

The German’s eyes widened as she looked up to find their suave American propped up in the bed, a pile of pillows supporting him. Not wanting to meet his gaze just yet, her eyes trailed over his chest, the criss-cross of bandages visible through his open hospital gown. Glancing at his face, she could see he was smiling slightly.

“See? Cowboy is okay,” Illya announced, crossing his arms in mock annoyance. His true relief and affection shone in his expression. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Peril is right,” Napoleon winked at the man, sighing when he received no response. “I’m just glad to see you’re alright.”

“Me?” Gaby scoffed. “You’re the one who was shot!”

Napoleon flicked his hand nonchalantly. “Not like it’s the first time that’s happened.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Stop acting like children,” Illya scolded with a smirk, moving to sit in a chair next to Napoleon’s bed as the other two stared at him in an offended manner. Gaby reluctantly rolled her eyes and copied his actions to sit on Napoleon’s other side. She reached out to grasp her hand around his larger one.

“No more acting like a… like a knight in shining armor, okay?”

“Please, I thought Peril was your knight.”

The blonde raised one eyebrow. “Russia not have knights. And, American version of knight is cowboy, like you.”

Napoleon narrowed his eyes. “Sometimes I really hate you.”

Illya and Gaby shared an amused look over him, and the two men knew that their behavior was successful in distracting Gaby by demonstrating that he was acting as per usual. “Whatever you say, Cowboy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried, guys.


	2. Crackle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caution: concussions may be more serious than the stubborn Russian wants to admit.

When asked, Illya claimed that his injury was his own fault.

“Was compromised. This led to distraction and chance to be wounded,” he muttered sluggishly  after the incident, his head reeling more from the emotional damage than the physical injuries. The pain in his chest had increased to a dull throb, but the agent couldn’t yet figure out if it was real or, as Cowboy would say, from a “wounded heart.”

Gaby reached in slightly to run her fingers gently through his hair as he flinched from the American’s touch against his side. “Definitely several broken ribs, maybe five or six.” His voice sounded as if it were coming through a static-riddled channel on a radio. “And his head…” The rest of his words became foreign to Illya as Napoleon turned away to speak more directly to Gaby. Both of their worried expressions caused the throb in his chest to increase.

“No,” the blonde said, trying to reach out and brush their hands away from him. “Я в поряд- I am fine,” he restated, knowing their German partner had been skiving off her Russian lessons.

“Illya, you were hit with a crowbar in the chest and slammed into a concrete wall. And you cracked your knuckles in the fight as well!”

As he blearily looked up at her, he dimly realized she was correct as the encounter came back to mind. There had been a fight, and he did remember the crackling sound of his fist breaking against the wall as a fourth attacker slammed a metal object into his ribs. “Was pipe, not crowbar…”

He had allowed himself to be cornered at first; it was either that or allow them to stumble upon Cowboy as he cracked a safe in the next room. The original three was easy for him to dispatch, but the fourth had used his movement against him to target his unprotected chest. He moved to lay an uppercut on the man’s jaw, but hit the wall instead as the attacker slid aside and used the momentum to slam him head-first into the wall. The combination did not have pleasant side effects.

Or maybe it did, since the way Gaby was still carding her fingers through his hair sent shivers down his spine and Napoleon’s warm hands left his skin tingling.

“Illya, next time be more careful, please,” Gaby said as Napoleon moved away to allow her to start working on the minor scrapes and cuts that littered his face and hands. He watched her softly as she cleaned the lacerations and bandaged the more severe ones; at least this time none required any stitches. His broken hand became slightly uncomfortable as she wrapped it tightly, but not enough to bother him at that point. He only snapped out of his daze when she spoke up again. “What is it?”

“What is what?”

He could hear Napoleon’s smirk from where he was rummaging around at their room’s bar. “You looked like you were starting to go soft, Peril!” Of course Cowboy could fit a tease and a warning into the same breath. It was his agent-code way of saying _'_ _you were looking at her affectionately.'_

“Может быть,” he replied, almost cracking a smile when he saw the man almost drop his glass.

Gaby’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What did you say?”

“Maybe you practice your Russian now,” he teased, finding amusement in her annoyed huff. Illya tried to reach for her hand, which rest on his knee, but his vision chose that moment to go double. He gritted his teeth as the world began to spin.

“Alright, you can complain about my Russian later. Now, you rest,” she ordered, leaving no room for arguments. He allowed her to slip off his shoes and undo his belt, but it took Napoleon’s added strength to hold him up in order to switch out his regular pants with pajama bottoms. The two then led him to the top of the bed; Napoleon helped him get under the covers before Gaby pulled the sheets up and brushed his drooping hair off his his forehead. As she began to turn away, Illya managed to grasp her wrist with his hand like she had done to him in Rome those many weeks ago. She looked at him with surprise evident in her chocolate eyes.

“Stay,” he murmured, not actually knowing if she would hear his request. He closed his eyes to hide his disappointment as she walked away, and thus did not see her walk around the bed to slip under the covers on the other side. It took him more effort than he wished to not move out of the fear that he would spook her. It seemed that he was the one more prone to startling, however, as he nearly flinched when she reached over to stroke his cheek lightly.

“Доброй ночи, Илья,” she whispered as Napoleon chuckled quietly from where he watched.

 _Huh,_ Illya thought as he drifted off to sleep. _Maybe she has been practicing her Russian._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Может быть = Maybe  
> Доброй ночи, Илья = Good night, Illya.
> 
> Thanks for the kind words on the first chapter! Hopefully this one holds up to the standard I seem to have set on myself.  
> [The medical stuff might not be too spot-on, but I did my best with combined internet research and personal experience. Illya's reaction to his concussion is mainly based off what I remember from my own and what I've seen from some student athletes while working with my school's PT.]


	3. Snap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's one tough cookie.

Although Gaby was technically "a damsel" and she had sent a distress call to U.N.C.L.E., let it never be said she was a damsel in distress.

Even when her two partners heard a loud _snap_ as they made their way down the cold cement hall to find where she was being held, her voice didn't cry out. Many more experienced agents would have been screaming hours earlier. The pair paused outside the only closed door briefly before Illya kicked it down and Napoleon shot the three enemies who were surrounding their captured partner. His eyes widened in shock and Illya let out a small strangled sound as they took in the sight of her.

Gaby was only supported by the chains that fell from the ceiling and bound her wrists; the sharp metal had cut into them and made blood run down her arms. Her head hung limply, but Napoleon could make out a sea of bruises across her face. Her dress was in tatters around her feet, but thankfully she had been left in both pieces of her underwear. However, that meant there wasn't anything to cover the multitude of injuries left by her torturers. As his eyes traveled down to her legs, the American sucked in his breath when he saw that her left leg was bent at an odd angle- he assumed her leg had been dislocated or, at worst, the femur snapped. "Gaby..."

Her eyes opened slightly and she managed to lift her head as he walked towards her. She coughed weakly before trying to speak. "Took" _-cough-_ "took you long enough."

"We're getting you out of here, Gaby," he said seriously. The jingling of the chains alerted him that Illya was releasing her from her restraints.

"It will be okay, chop shop girl," the blonde added in a softer but equally hard tone. He added a warning to Napoleon, who was then ready when Gaby fell forward into his arms. "You keep her safe," he said, eyes flashing, "I will handle the rest." Illya lightly ran his fingers through Gaby's tangled hair before he left the room as the Red Peril, guns drawn. Napoleon lifted Gaby bridal style and followed him out once the sound of gunshots faded.

He was checking around the corner for threats when Gaby spoke up again. "Are you both proud of me?" She whispered. Napoleon glanced down at her before continuing to make their exit.

"Why would we not be?"

She smiled slightly. "He likes... he likes strong women and now I am one." He felt her head rest against his chest and assumed she had fallen unconscious.

"Oh, Ms. Teller," he looked down at her as he jogged. "You've _always_ been strong."

* * *

 

She had heard from a man on their Istanbul mission that if you swam in the Dead Sea, you would float. That's what it felt like she was doing in the surrounding darkness: floating. It was a gentle embrace, compared to the sharp spears of obsidian she vaguely remembered experiencing not too long before. Somewhere in between the change, the comforting scent of Napoleon's cologne and Illya's gunpowder filtered in; she couldn't tell whether it was reality or a (more-likely) hallucination as colors seeped into her world.

"-waking up before we get there..."

"...made it this far, she'll be okay..."

 _Yes,_ Gaby agreed. _I'm strong. I'll be fine._ Nevertheless, the darkness coaxed her back to sleep for a little while longer.

The next time she awoke, there were bright lights above her. Shadowy figures hovered above her head as she felt herself poked and prodded. She tried to move her head to better see what was happening, but something was placed over her mouth and nose, and she felt herself fall back into the black abyss.

The third time she knew was for real. First the sounds filtered in (a steady beeping from a heart monitor, the rustling of a shirt), then smells (sterile alcohol associated with hospitals), taste (metal, chemicals, and bad breath), and touch (she really wishes this one had waited longer, because _wow_ did everything hurt). Sight was still to come, as she hadn't opened her eyes. She didn't want to alert people to her being awake just yet, but the universe had other plans.

"Gaby, darling, I know you're awake," Napoleon said in an amused tone. "The heart monitor gave you away."

Damn. Gaby finally opened her eyes, blinking several times at the sudden change from dark to light. She gingerly turned her head to the right to find Napoleon sitting beside her bed. "Fancy seeing you here."

She was greeted with a flash of pearly whites as he grinned. "Only stick around for works of art."

"I bet you say that to all the beautiful people."

He chuckled. "Just you and Peril."

She stretched one hand towards him, leaning back further into her pillow as he took it in his much larger hand. "Speaking of, where is Illya?" At his gesture, she sighed and turned her head to the left to find Illya seated in a chair, his hat tipped over his face as he slept.

"Took me 13 hours to convince him to rest," the dark hair man commented blandly.

Gaby's eyes widened. "...How long have I been out?"

"4 days." His squeezed her hand gently. "The docs did that on purpose though, to help you heal faster."

She had glanced at her arms (they were the only part of her above the bedsheets and not covered by her hospital gown); if the deep green bruises were the result of several days healing, she had a feeling the rest of her looked a lot worse. "Anything important happen?"

"Waverley's on his way. Wanted to make sure his favorite agent was doing alright." He shrugged. "Sky's blue, world's still turning."

"Good to know." She turned back towards him. "Help me up?"

He frowned slightly. "Gaby-"

"Napoleon," she shot back and then huffed in annoyance. "I don't want to walk anywhere, I just want to get to Illya."

This seemed to do the trick. He released her hand, stood up, and made his way around to the other side of the bed. He carefully detached her from the wires and IVs that she was hooked up to, before pulling back the sheet and aiding her swing her legs over the side. Gaby tried to keep her gaze locked onto Napoleon in order to not focus on her injuries as she supported herself against his shoulder while he helped by wrapped his arm around her waist. He half-guided, half-lifted her the several steps to Illya's side.

She lifted his hat before leaning it, softly saying "Спасибо, Illya," and kissing his cheek. Turning back to Napoleon, Gaby tugged on his shirt to get him to lean down to her height. "Thank you, Napoleon," she said just as softly before kissing his cheek as well. She drew back to find a surprised expression across his face. "Are you alright?" He nodded mutely.

The two nearly jumped when Illya's voice chimed in amusedly. "If I knew that would make him shut up, I would have done it long ago."


End file.
